


What's in a Name?

by obsidiangrey



Series: States 'Verse [9]
Category: Hetalia: Axis Powers
Genre: Countries Using Human Names, Fatherhood, Gen, Names, Parent-Child Relationship, Siblings, and i'm still not tagging all of the states bc that'd be ridiculous, they're one giant mess of a family and i love them
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-10-30
Updated: 2017-11-12
Packaged: 2019-01-26 20:40:50
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 4,317
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12565760
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/obsidiangrey/pseuds/obsidiangrey
Summary: The way it's supposed to work, America is fairly certain, is that the parent names the child-- but all of his kids seem set on naming themselves.And if it makes them happy, then he's okay with it.





	1. Chapter 1

Delaware, like many of her siblings, didn't see the point in having to pick _another_ name for herself. She already had a name! But Papa insisted; he was the Land, he was _America_ , but they couldn't just call him that in front of other people, because their Kind needed to stay a secret. So he was also Alfred Jones.

The little girl squinted up at her father, who was looking rather upset. She frowned. She didn't _want_ to make him upset, and it wasn't that having another name was a _bad_ thing. She just didn't see the point. She was Delaware.

But if picking a name would make her father happy?

“Delaney,” she said, finally, because it was close to her state name, even if it wasn't a very _common_ name. Papa blinked, startled. “Delaney Jones.”

“...It should probably be Kirkland,” he started to say, but one of her brothers across the room snorted loudly. She glanced over; Massachusetts, or _Patrick_. He was a very loud boy, all coarse and rough like most of New England. Delaware wasn't sure if she liked him yet.

“None've us have ever even _met_ old England,” he said. “ _You're_ Papa, not him.”

Papa's lips pressed together in a thin line. “You're British colonies--”

“So are _you_ ,” pointed out Maine, _Mason_ , who was very much like her older brother. Delaware wasn't sure if she like her, yet, either.

Papa didn't seem to have an answer to that, so she became Delaware who was also _Delaney_ , and every single one of them became a _Jones_.

* * *

Pennsylvania had been thinking about names ever since the man who called himself America and Alfred and Papa had found her near one of her Quaker settlements. She mentioned wanting to be called Elizabeth, like Zachariah's wife out of the Bible, but Papa had only shaken his head, glancing down at her. The horse underneath the two of them kept plodding along through the woods.

It was supposed to be a very long ride back to the house that they all stayed in.

“Your older sister, Virginia-- her state was named after Queen Elizabeth of England, so she named herself as a person after Her Majesty as well.”

“Oh.”

Pennsylvania thought about it some more. She knew lots of women's names. She could be a _Mary_ or an _Alice_ or a _Hannah_ \-- but she really did like Elizabeth. The ride was long, and she thought, and she thought.

“Betsy,” she said, hours later. A name by itself, but also a nickname for Elizabeth, if one wanted it to be.

Papa smiled fondly at her, like he knew what she was thinking. She smiled back. “It's very nice to meet you, Betsy Jones.”

* * *

“James,” said New Jersey when he was asked. He didn't even think about it. Papa and his other siblings within earshot looked taken aback.

“Why?” Papa finally asked.

“First one that came to mind.”

* * *

Georgia frowned at the mirror in front of her.

It wasn't that she didn't like it here. She liked it a lot, even if the land was unfamiliar beneath her feet, and she missed the fields of home and the smell of the sea along the coast. She liked being able to see her siblings whom she had been created to protect-- that feeling thrummed within her veins, _keep them safe, keep them safe_. She liked how Pa didn't talk to her any differently than the rest of them, or if he did, he generally caught himself and apologized.

She liked not having to steal food, or crawl out of the prisons in the night, or try and find a way to get out _get out_ before she could be brought to auction.

They were staying in Richmond, Pa and the others. But most of her siblings who treated her nice had gone back north, back to their own lands, because they could do that without having to worry about their safety. And her siblings who stayed behind, the ones she had been created to _protect_ , all just looked at her with something verging on disgust no matter how often Pa talked to them or Georgia tried to get them to open up.

Georgia frowned at the mirror. Her reflection frowned back, dark, dark skin and dark, dark hair and their father's eyes.

Some part of her wanted to scrub her hands at her cheeks to see if it would make the color go away, but she knew it wouldn't help.

Her frown deepened.

“I _am_ a colony,” she whispered; it was late, and she was the only one still awake, unable to sleep, thoughts in a whirl. “I am a colony, just like both the Carolinas, and Virginia, and Pa, and all the others. I am a colony, _just like them_.”

She pushed the frown away and thought about how it felt when Pa smiled at her, or laughed at something that she said. She smiled back in response-- defiance, in its own way, because she wasn't going to let her own _family_ hurt her.

“I am a colony, just like them, and I am _beautiful_ just like all my sisters. I am beautiful. I am _beautiful._ ”

(“Could you call me Belle?” she asked Pa when he was awake the next morning, and Pa had smiled and nodded. _Belle_. Beautiful.)

* * *

Connecticut was a Puritan colony, religious in a sense, though not so much as others in New England; still Rhode Island had her beat when it came to distance from the primarily accepted faith, born out of religious exiles from Massachusetts.

But, speaking of Massachusetts, her brother had shown up the other day not long after Papa had brought her to live with him and her new family, and he was being annoying, and she _knew_ how much he disliked the two Puritan colonies who had attempted to raise him.

“I want to be called Constance,” she announced. A Puritan name.

Massachusetts made a face at her. Connecticut smiled sweetly in return.

* * *

Massachusetts named himself. He'd been thinking about the boy with his eyes, who was called Alfred and America and the _Land_ , and he'd been thinking about how he was _only_ the Land, and he'd been thinking about how to wriggle out of Massachusetts Bay's clutches as soon as he was able to. He didn't like spending time with the Massachusetts Bay Colony or Plymouth. It was _boring_. They made him wear awful clothes, all stiff and uncomfortable.

Massachusetts thought he should have a name, like Alfred, and like Massachusetts Bay went by John after Mr. Winthrop, and like Plymouth went by William after Mr. Bradford-- but Massachusetts Bay and Plymouth would give him a Puritan name if he asked for ideas, and he _loved_ his churches, he loved them more than anything, but he didn't like how stifled he felt whenever he needed to sit still.

“John?” he asked one day, perfectly innocent ( _no such thing_ , he could hear Plymouth saying in the back of his mind). “What's wrong with the Catholic idea of sainthood? It doesn't seem so odd to me.”

Massachusetts Bay drew himself up sharply, affronted, and started to speak, working himself up more and more as the rant dragged on. Massachusetts picked out a few of the names he liked, pondered over them, and finally settled on _Patrick_.

* * *

Maryland didn't much see the point in picking another name, either, just as several of her siblings had felt. But Papa was right when he said that they couldn't go around calling one another by their real names in front of people, so she sat down and thought, and thought, and thought.

 _Marilyn_ , she concluded. It sounded close enough to her real name, and people could call her Mary, if they wanted to. So in a sense, her land _was_ Mary's land.

* * *

Carolina was two people even before there were two colonies, north and south. They found one another before anyone ever found them, mirror images, and refused to ever be separated. They walked together, slept side by side together, ate together.

“You two need names,” said the boy who was Pa who was also _Alfred_ and _America_. They were riding back to a place that Pa said would be their new home, and the two clung as tightly to him as they did to one another. “Names other than your state names, I mean. Like I go by Alfred. Um. Your sister Virginia, she goes by Elizabeth, after the Queen... Massachusetts, up north, he picked out Patrick for himself...”

“But we're Carolina,” said North, frowning.

“Well-- yes. But people will ask questions if you call one another that.”

“But we're _Carolina_ ,” South protested.

“Yes, but--”

“Carol.” North pointed at herself, nodded once, then pointed at her twin. “Caroline. Carolina.”

Pa looked between them like he couldn't tell the difference. That was fine. They were two, North and South, but they were both still Carolina.

* * *

New Hampshire wasn't very good with words. Speaking words was hard, reading them without an issue was nigh on impossible. But he thought a lot, and he was very good at listening to other people, and he liked to sit outside the open windows of churches and listen to the pastor speak.

He was the Land, he knew that much. Just because he had trouble with words didn't mean that he was stupid. But he couldn't just _say_ that he was the Land, because to anyone else, that wouldn't make sense. He couldn't even explain it. He just _knew_.

So when the boy with his eyes came to find him and tell him that he was Alfred and America, and that New Hampshire had a family waiting if he was willing to come with him... well, he already had a name when America asked.

“J-Jacob,” he stuttered out, and offered a nervous smile. America smiled fondly back.

“It's nice to meet you, Jacob.”

* * *

America helped Virginia pick out her name, but there was never any doubt in his mind that it fit her.

She was the first of his children that he ever found, and it was early in the morning in a big empty house that England had left him at, and the young colony watched little Virginia sitting at the dining room table, devouring the bread and soup before her yet never spilling a crumb or a drop. She was dressed in his old clothes, and he found himself smiling at her.

“Have you thought about names?” he asked when she finally paused to breathe instead of eat, and she looked at him warily with his own eyes.

“'m the Land,” she answered, dunking a piece of bread into her soup before shoving it in her mouth, hardly pausing to chew. She managed to make the sight not disgusting.

“Yes, but... like I'm America, but I'm also Alfred. They're both my names.”

She made a face, but it wasn't directed at him. She thought hard for a few moments. “Named after a queen, right?"

“Virginia was named after Queen Elizabeth, y--”

“Eliz-beth,” she said decisively, and went back to her food.

* * *

New York was already going by Steven when America found him on the island of Manhattan, pickpocketing others for change and scraps of food, looking after street urchins. Like Massachusetts, he didn't come back immediately, though America made the offer-- but he offered a very small smile when America waved goodbye, and that was enough.

* * *

There were kings who had gone by Robert before, and the Colony of Rhode Island and Providence Plantations didn't care too much for kings, or any kind of authority. There was a reason they called him _Rogue's_ Island-- or, not him, because nobody knew that he was the Land, but the land and the people he represented.

Rhode Island liked the name Robert. And even better, it started with an R, so all those new folks calling themselves his family would be able to remember it more easy. _And_ it meant fame, glory, bright. Those all sounded pretty good to him.


	2. Chapter 2

New Hampshire kept to himself, more often than not; once he was old enough, he went back to home soil, where things weren't quite so loud, so chaotic, so _strange_. Foreign soil felt strange under his feet; his family argued a lot more about various things since the end of the French-Indian War. It wasn't that he didn't like spending time with his family, because he did, but they could all get to be a bit much, and Virginian weather was unpleasantly hot and the summer and downright _wrong_ in the winter. There were supposed to be snowbanks piled high by Christmastime, not weather so mild that one could get away with wearing nothing more than a light jacket.

But for all his reasoning, none of it mattered much. The only important thing was that he was on home soil, and so he was able to feel the _tug_. That feeling of _different_ that he felt whenever he looked at his family or at Papa, present in just a glimpse of a boy he caught scurrying through the streets.

He found the boy. Or maybe the boy found him-- he admitted that he felt a _tug_ , too, when he first saw New Hampshire. A personification for that ever-disputed stretch of land called Vermont, possibly a part of Massachusetts in the same way that Maine was, or possibly New York, or possibly New Hampshire-- Connecticut had even staked a claim, at one point, but he figured that was just her way of telling them they were all being ridiculous.

He didn't mind not having much land, he really didn't, but he hated the way that his family acted like they could walk all over him just because he talked funny, because he couldn't always make his thoughts into words that made sense out loud.

“You n-need a-- name,” he told Vermont, walked hand in hand with the boy back to the house he was staying at. _This_ would show them. “T-to-- to go b-by, in pu-ublic.”

Vermont looked up at him solemnly, wide blue eyes. Papa's eyes, really. His eyes. “There was a nice man,” he said. “Gave me food once. He said his name was Mr. Gregory.”

“G-Greg-- Gregory it is, th-then.”

* * *

Washington, District of Columbia was the stronghold of the federal government, midway between the northern and southern states, making trips home for the Carolinas or Virginia or Maryland much easier. But Georgia could feel the growing concerns of the people,  _her_ people, some concerns valid and others not so much. Virginia's legislature had ceded land for the capital's creation along with Maryland's, but Virginia herself was leery of the personification. The point was for the capital to house the government in an area not claimed by any state, but that there was a personification so  _soon_... Georgia assumed Washington District would become her father's heart, like Boston was Massachusetts', like Philadelphia was Pennsylvania's. But that a piece of land meant to hold the government was represented like the rest of them-- they had fought to get  _away_  from oppressive government, and theirs had the potential to become so powerful that it warranted its own representation.

No, the federal government was something she felt they had valid reason to be wary of, but this child hadn't done anything. Georgia knew you couldn't help what you were.

She had been outside tending to the garden. It was always quieter outside, and she preferred that to being cooped up with the rest of the South. She backed away from the flowers and sat on the ground, patting the spot next to her. “C'mere, love.” The capital still looked upset, but she sat-- reluctantly, but she sat. “Nobody hates you here,” Georgia said firmly.

The capital shook her head. “Yes, they  _do_.”

“Well,  _I_ certainly like you!” Washington District's expression was that stubborn sort of look only children could pull off. Georgia thought for a moment. “You gon' call me a liar to my face?”

The capital shook her head very quickly.

“Then, that's settled! I think you're a fine young girl, Washington, and I don't want you lettin' nobody tell you otherwise.”

Washington District squinted at her suspiciously, finally nodded a couple times, and it seemed the matter was settled. She didn't say anything else, but Georgia was loathe to break the peaceful moment, and the two of them sat in silence, watching bumblebees drone lazily about the flower garden.

“I wanna be called Abigail, stead of Wash'ton. Like Mass-- Massaset's--  _Patrick's_ Abigail.”

Georgia needed a moment to think. Massachusetts' Abigail...? “You mean Mrs. Adams?”

She brightened and nodded happily. “Yes!”

“How come? Lovely name, I's just curious.”

“'Cause she wanted women to do things=- an' I heard Masses-- Maschuset--  _Patrick_  talking about her, and he said she's smart and pretty, and I'm going to be smart and pretty!”

That sounded a lot like Massachusetts. He  _was_  New England's revolutionary. Georgia smiled, reached out hesitantly to put her hand on the child's back. She didn't shy away. “You'll grow up t'be the smartest and the prettiest, love.”

* * *

America didn't get the chance to cross over the Appalachians until after the Revolution had ended. He could feel pinpricks of presence out on the land, far away from them all, but with the war going on, he hadn't been able to leave.

But there had been the Battle of Yorktown, and most of the land forces driven out, and the naval forces not long after, and the treaty finally signed... and it was over. It was all over. And now, here he was, across the mountains. And here was a little boy in his arms, straight black hair and skin darker than his own but lighter than Georgia's, and eyes that all of their family shared, bright and blue. The state of Kentucky.

“Ever thought about names, kiddo?”

“Kentucky,” said Kentucky, sounding confused, arms around America's shoulders, head resting on his shoulders; America laughed, more than used to hearing that from his kids respond with such.

“Yeah, that's one of your names. But people are gonna look at you odd if I'm calling you Kentucky in town, aren't they?”

“That's _rude_.”

“Yeah, people _are_ rude,” he said with another laugh. “But you get to pick it, which is pretty neat, I'd say.”

It worked, more or less; Kentucky went absolutely silent in thought for much of the ride back to the inn as well as dinner. And then, around a mouthful of potatoes: “Kevin.”

“It's good to meet you, Kevin.”

* * *

 _Massachusetts_ found Tennessee, of all people; he'd gone traveling with his father, to keep him company. America knew there was a personification somewhere nearby, but it was Massachusetts that ran into him, nearly falling over the little figure huddled in the roots of a tree, apple clutched in his hands.

“Whoa-- hey, hey there. Hi. Hey. You don't need to be frightened.”

Tennessee clung tight to him the entire way back, something which amused America to no end, and it was to Massachusetts that Tennessee told first when he finally picked a name: Timothy.

* * *

Ohio _read_.

It didn't matter what the book was or how difficult its content, if the young State saw a book, she would pick it up and read it without comment, somethings sounding out words that were long or that she didn't understand. America wasn't quite sure where she got it from; his kids were smart, but not a lot of them were scholars, and while he didn't dislike reading, it wasn't any kind of a hobby or a habit. But she read and read and read, and he bought more and more books that he thought would interest her, and eventually she decided to name herself after one of the characters she liked.

“Pa.”

“Mm?”

“Why the hell'd you let her name herself Ophelia?”

“She picked it.”

“But Ophelia _dies_ in the play!”

“But she _picked_ it!”

* * *

Louisiana, like many of his siblings before him, decided to name himself after his state, to make things easier for himself and for everyone else. It was hard to start thinking of one's self by a different name, knowing one's self as something else for so long, after all. So sometimes he went by Louis, and sometimes he went by Lou, and despite what the rest of his family seemed to think about monarchies, he was proud to be named after a king.

He was a _king_ , and his sister Georgia was Belle because she was beautiful, and those were their names, and no one could take that away from them.

* * *

Indiana chose the name of _Parker_ because someone told him that it could be both a girl's name _and_ a boy's name, and furthermore, it wasn't a very common name for either. Something in that spoke to him, made him like it all the more.

(He, like many many others in their odd little family, didn't find the words for things about love or gender until decades later, but he made do with what he could until that day, always pushing onwards.)

...And he had to admit, he got a kick out of telling folks his name was _Indiana Jones_ once the 1980s rolled around. There weren't too many of them that could get away with going by their State names in public and not having anyone else bat an eye, at least not for the reasons they normally would!

* * *

Mississippi was first found by a man with dark skin and dark hair and dark, sad eyes, like seeing her _made_ him sad, and she didn't understand it until years and years later. But by then, she was already going by _Miranda_ , a name that Pa helped her pick out, and she never felt comfortable enough to go to him and reject that gift for something else.

But her State name was his name, too. He would be remembered like that, if nothing else.

* * *

 _Jack Jones_ was, to some, an unfortunate name. His siblings poked fun at the alliteration, finding it corny (he could make a pun about cornfields, if he wanted to... but maybe later) instead of liking how it rolled off the tongue, but Illinois had gotten pretty good at ignoring them over the decades.

He had never met the man, but way, way back when, before Papa had even come looking for anyone away from the eastern coast, before he had given up hope on the Nations of his European settlers coming to find him, a man named Jacques Marquette had come surveying, not long before the first settlement was established. And he knew that a lot of his siblings just picked names that they liked, or names that sounded like their State names for simplicity's sake -- he could have gone by  _Isaac_ or  _Ishmael_ (he was really glad, in the modern day, that he didn't go with Ishmael). But he liked to remember his history, so  _Jack_ it was.

* * *

Alabama had come back home with Texas, and Mississippi, and Arkansas after the Confederacy had finally surrendered and been dissolved. The family dynamics in the aftermath had been unmistakeably _different_ than what they were before, which the former Confederate states had been expecting, had _known_ \-- and yet everyone tried to pretend that things were the same, and it was hard. They knew it would be hard, and yet--

And yet.

She'd been quiet, in the house in the capital. A lot of them had been quiet, but she was almost unnaturally subdued, and Washington District finally decided to sit down and talk to her about it. She was supposed to be a neutral party in most things, being the capital, but family was _family_ and that was never something she could be neutral about. She and Alabama had grown up together.

“I don't like my name.”

“But... you were so happy when you picked it.” The capital looked at her in confusion. She remembered when her family picked names for themselves. Picking names was  _important_. Alabama twitched, fingers clutching so tightly at the fabric of her skirts she was worried it might rip.

“But it's _his_ name.”

"It--?"

 _Oh_.

Confederacy had gone by Alexander, when he'd been alive. And, like much of her family, Alabama had picked a name that started with _A_ for everyone to remember it better: _Alexandria_.

“No,” the capital said firmly, making sure that Alabama was looking right at her when she did. “No, it's _your_ name. It's always been your name. It was yours _first_. No one's gonna take your choices from you-- if you want to change your name, no one's gonna stop you. But he's _gone_ , Lex, dead and gone.”

Alabama shook her head slowly. "People still believe in what he stood for. And just because he's gone doesn't-- it doesn't-- he still  _was_."

Washington District didn't have anything to say-- she didn't think there was anything she  _could_ say, in truth. So the two sat in silence for a long, long time, shoulder to shoulder, and said nothing at all.

(Alabama didn't change her name, in the end; the Confederacy took many things from them, and she still cringed at the syllables for years after, but she  _would not_ let him take her name as well.)

* * *

“Mason,” he told her in the aftermath of another argument with Plymouth. The older man hated the Freemasons. Massachusetts wasn't fond of them, either, but he _was_ fond of irritating both Plymouth and Massachusetts Bay. It was why he had picked his own name, after all. And he _did_ explain it to her why he picked it, so she could pick a new one if she wanted, but his little sister just rolled her eyes.

“You just want it to start with em-ay like our state names so you won't forget it.”

“...If there was any doubt that we're related, that just got rid of it.”


End file.
